And no, that doesn’t mean I’m growing dreads. It just means finding a good barber is hard for a fulltimer.
Ever since Rhodester wrote about his salon experience, I’ve been meaning to write about getting a haircut while on the road.
Then René wrote about how one fulltime RVer colors her hair. But yesterday, Valerie asked who cuts my hair while traveling. And Brian mentioned an old song about going home to get your hair cut.
“When you get a haircut, be sure to go back home
When you get a haircut, get a barber you have known
Since you were a little bitty boy sittin’ in a booster chair
Or you might look like Larry, Moe or Curly if a stranger cuts your hair”
So I just gotta say it. I need a fucking haircut.
My last haircut was probably the best I have ever had. Certainly the best since we hit the road. Back in Wisconsin, a lady hacked me up with clippers so dull I told her to stop using them before she was done.
But when we got to my sister’s place in New York, I was due again. And my brother in law told me I had to go see Fuckin’ Lou. “Fuckin’ Lou?” I Laughed. “Yeah,” he smirked, “Fuckin’ Lou.” So I went to see Fuckin’ Lou.
Lou’s Cut and Style is right across the street from the Rennselear Polytechnic Institute in Troy, NY. But don’t even try parking in front unless you’re there to get a haircut. Lou owns those parking spaces, and he’ll fucking let you know it.
I walked in to hear the older barber cussing up a storm with a customer in the chair. I smiled and said, “You must be Fuckin’ Lou.”
“Damn right, I’m Fuckin’ Lou,” he snapped back. After asking me who the fuck I was, He offered me some fucking coffee, clarifying that I was in luck because he just fucking made it. And if i wanted any fucking milk or sugar, he had that too. He didn’t have any cream, so if I wanted any of that, “I was fuckin’ outta luck.”
By this time, I was already having a blast and didn’t even care if i was gonna get a good haircut here. But I knew I would. Lou runs the kinda barber shop I’m always on the lookout for when in need of a trim. Aside from the requisite striped barber pole, it was old and smelled of well groomed old men. The walls were lined with sports memorabilia, and there was plenty of fine reading material.
I learned long ago that the more nudie magazines a barber shop has, the better haircut you’re gonna get. And it has been a long time since I read up on the latest Playboy news while waiting my turn. Forget that Maxim shit. When Lou was ready for me, he asked “You fuckin’ ready?” Damn right I was ready.
When I told Lou Tim had referred me, he lightened up a bit, and started swearing even more. “Oh yeah, that fuckin’ Tim,” he said. Lou proceeded to give me the best haircut, while providing ample entertainment. We talked about owning your own business and Lou explained how he loves all the ball bustin’ he enjoys with his customers.
Wondering if he would think I was fuckin’ crazy for selling my home and business and hitting the road in a trailer, I asked Lou what he thought. “That’s fuckin’ great,” he said. Turns out Lou himself has plans to sell out someday and do the same thing. Well, and go at least as far as fuckin’ Florida, where he plans to do whatever the fuck he wants.
When I told Lou I was from Humboldt County, he smiled and asked about the great fuckin’ herb out there. He mentioned how he liked Oregon because you could grow whatever the fuck you want an no one would fuckin’ bother you.” I wouldn’t fucking know…
The fun really began when someone attempted to park in front of Lou’s. Telling me to hold tight, he walked to the window and shouted, “You fuckin’ parkin’ there?” The guy walking toward a café down the street was stunned and quickly stopped. “You wanna pay a hundred bones for your cup o’ coffee you go right ahead and park there. The tow truck will fuckin’ be here before you get back. Can’t you read the fuckin’ sign?” Lou feels he has done people a great favor by placing the Lou’s Customer Parking signs clearly stating that any others will be towed. I guess the city wouldn’t let him get away with, “No Fuckin’ Parking” signs.
The next person that parked there was a shaggy haired kid, to whom Lou shouted, “You fuckin’ comin’ in here?” He was. “Good boy,” Lou said. When the RPI student walked in, Lou asked if he had “cut that fuckin’ mop” before. No, it was the guy’s first time to see Lou. Obviously.
Aside from skin mags, my primary gauge of a good barber is if he uses a straight razor. And Lou does. I even got the hot shaving cream treatment for some manscaping of the neck.
My last haircut was quick, cheap, entertaining, and too long ago. I just hope I can find another Fuckin’ Lou, sometime fuckin’ soon.